Pit Stop on Mount Doom
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Good God, Y'All missing scenes: They both thought they were doing it for the other.


_This will be my last regular Saturday posting (well, delayed a day this time thanks to site issues). I'd originally promised weekly postings for the summer, which became fall, which became winter hiatus... But I've really been pushing my editors lately with these deadlines, and that's no fun for anyone. I've still got a pile to post and I continue to write, but I'll be putting fic up as it gets finished, when it gets finished. I hope you'll check back! _

**Pit Stop on Mount Doom**  
K Hanna Korossy

Stopping War, getting his fancy ring and all, should've felt good. It was a win in a battle with precious few of them, and the first real hunt they'd managed since… Well, since they were truly working together again instead of, thanks to him, at cross-purposes.

So Sam wanted to be glad, and grateful, and relieved. But the desire to throw up only grew, his heart thumping hard against his chest as he followed Dean back into town to check the damages.

"They'll need some help getting the wounded out. We're gonna have to come up with one friggin' big cover story for this one," Dean was musing a few steps ahead.

Sam nodded heavily, trying to keep focused and moving. His head ached, and he was starting to feel a little dizzy now that the threat had passed and adrenaline was receding. That was probably why it took so long for the obvious conclusion to present itself.

He was going into withdrawal after all.

"…have some serious PTSD…shooting their neighbors…Rufus is gonna…"

Sam knuckled his eyes, willing the nausea down. Dean could barely stand to look at him as it was; how would he deal with Sam detoxing again? He just had to…he had to concentrate, get through this without Dean knowing. His brother would be caught up for a while with restoring order to the town anyway. Sam swallowed and stumbled after the blur of his brother's back.

"Dean! Sam…whatever…looks like…okay?"

Sam nodded dumbly, licking ash-dry lips. He didn't even know who was talking now.

It wasn't fair. He hadn't even had any of the blood on the knife. Although…that hadn't been demon blood then, had it? He'd almost had human blood…had craved…

"Dean," he whispered, then he was tipping forward, not sure whether the overwhelming nausea or the gathering dark spots would get to him first.

The last conscious part of him was surprised when Dean beat them both.

00000

Sam had been slogging behind him, that much Dean knew, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. They were both running on empty.

So Sam's murmur of his name was all the warning Dean had before Sam slumped into his arms.

"What's wrong with him?" Rufus demanded from behind him as Dean struggled to lower his unexpected burden to the ground.

Good question. He should know the answer but didn't. Dean ignored Rufus and addressed himself to his brother's slack features instead. "Sam? Hey, Sammy, wake up for me." One arm curled under Sam, he used the other to lightly slap the flushed cheeks. "C'mon, man, up and at 'em."

Sam's eyebrows drew together, but otherwise there was no response.

Dean grimaced. He slid his hand down to Sam's neck, frown deepening as he felt the faster than usual pulse. But his pupils were fine, his skin wasn't clammy, and there were no wounds Dean could find. "Sam. Hey." He cradled Sam's chin in one hand and shook it gently. "Hey, I—"

Wait, what was that? Dean's thumb reached up to rub at the crust of white at the corner of Sam's mouth. He peered at it suspiciously.

"What the—?"

"Oh, uh. 'S probably salt," Rufus spoke up. "When we thought he had a demon in him, me and Jo poured some down his gullet."

The pieces suddenly came together in Dean's head and he pivoted on one foot, still holding Sam up against him. "Some? How much is 'some,' Rufus?"

The older hunter seemed torn between apologetic and defiant. "Coupla spoonfuls? It was kinda hard to tell how much went in."

"Awesome," Dean growled, then gathered Sam's limp body up. "There a bed inside?" He nodded at the house Rufus and Jo had used for headquarters.

"Yeah. You think he's OD-ed on salt?"

"I know he is," Dean puffed out as he hoisted his brother over his shoulder and shoved to his feet. Sam's arms knocked against his back, and Dean clamped an arm tightly around the hanging legs. "Hold on, Sam, gonna get you fixed up."

Sam didn't answer.

Dean wasn't surprised anymore by that, either.

00000

He didn't want to wake up. In sleep at least there was comfort and escape. But the closer he got to consciousness, the more his head ached and his stomach churned.

Sam groaned, turning his face into the cool pillow, seeking the retreating embrace of slumber.

"Bet you're feeling ten kinds of lousy, huh?" Dean's voice was gruff, but it hid his worry as poorly as always.

Sam squinted his eyes open and licked his lips. They tasted nasty.

"Come on, drink—"

Sam groaned, rolled onto his side, and threw up on the floor next to the bed.

"Or you can yak first," Dean graciously allowed, but his hand cupped the back of Sam's head, taking its weight when he sagged back, drained. "Y'done?"

Sam flinched and nodded, reaching up to pinch his nose against the flaring headache. "What happ'ned?"

"You fainted."

"I don't—" Oh. Withdrawal. Right. Looked like he was doing a great job keeping it from Dean. Sam grimaced and tried to turn away from his brother's keen gaze.

"Not so fast, dude. You gotta drink some of this." Dean's hand lifted now, tilting his head up. Despite the nausea, Sam was too thirsty not to take advantage of the bottle that was held to his lips. Amazingly, the cool water seemed to settle his agitated stomach a little.

"Already put you on a drip to get you rehydrated, but now that you're awake, I want you to keep drinking, okay? That salt really did a number on you."

"Salt?" He looked in confusion at Dean.

"Yeah. You know," Dean shrugged one-shouldered, "Rufus trying to season the demon out of you? Which would've been great if you were possessed, but the only thing he managed to get rid of was the water in your system. You're lucky he didn't screw up your kidneys."

Salt. He remembered now, being tied to the chair, Rufus and Jo pouring salt down his throat. It had made him feel a little sick at the time, but he hadn't realized, hadn't thought…

"It's okay," Dean said quietly. "Not your fault, all right? Your electrolytes were so messed up, you probably weren't thinking straight by the time I got to you."

Right, he'd go with that.

"I should've…" Dean tapered off, staring at nothing, then shook himself. "Here, drink some more. I wanna make sure you're not gonna faint on me again before I go help with clean-up."

"Didn't faint," Sam grumbled weakly, mostly because he was expected to. He did drink, though, his attempt to hold the bottle easily thwarted by Dean.

"Okay, here's your phone. You just lie there and take it easy, drink some more if you can. I'm gonna be outside—call if you need anything, all right? Sam?"

He nodded, letting his eyes close.

There was a pause, then a hand awkwardly patted his shoulder before Dean's weight lifted off the edge of the bed. Footsteps, then silence.

Not withdrawal, just a stupid case of hypernatremia. That was probably why his muscles felt so knotted, too, tense and twitchy, why his stomach cramped and his skin crawled: dehydration, not demon-blood cravings.

Somehow that didn't make him feel better. He'd seen the moment of wariness in Dean's eyes, and self-recrimination. And Dean had had to stop and look after him, again. The whole town around them was in chaos, and Dean had stayed at his bedside to make sure he was okay. He always would, no matter what havoc Lucifer wreaked, no matter how upset he was at Sam or the cost to himself. Sam had always been his weakness.

Maybe…maybe it was time to cut Dean loose from the ballast of his little brother.

Sam curled onto his side, not really caring if he dislodged the IV needle or not. He had to think about this, to work out his argument carefully. He'd tried to leave before, and Dean had never let him.

He wondered if this time would be different.

And if he wanted it to be.

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"Maybe it's best we just…go our separate ways," Sam said quietly.

Twenty-four years of Dean's instincts screamed no. He didn't want this, even now. It hurt even looking at Sam these days, but he still loved and worried about his brother; that hadn't changed.

But Sam had almost died the day before, and Dean hadn't even seen it coming. He was so twisted around, he couldn't do his job right, either one. If they separated…if Sam left…maybe at least Dean could be a good hunter again, help stop the disaster he and Sam had brought onto the world.

And Sam would be safer. Because he wasn't the only one Dean didn't trust anymore after the last few months. It was the only way he could still be a good big brother, too.

"Well, I think you're right."

No matter what he told himself, though, it still felt like a lie.

**The End**


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